Lord's Resistance Army
The Lord's Resistance Army (LRA), also known as the Lord's Resistance Movement, is a rebel group and cult which has operated in northern Uganda, South Sudan, the Central African Republic and the Democratic Republic of the Congo. Originally known as the United Holy Salvation Army and Uganda Christian Army/Movement, its stated goals include establishment of multi-party democracy,ruling Uganda according to the Ten Commandments, and Acholi nationalism, though in practice the LRA is not motivated by any identifiable political agenda, and its military strategy and tactics reflect this and it appears to largely function as a personality cult of its leader Joseph Kony. Kony being a self-declared Prophet leading a violent cult has earned him the nickname "Africa's David Koresh". It is listed as a terrorist group by the United States and has been accused of widespread human rights violations, including murder, abduction, mutilation, child-sex slavery, and forcing children to participate in hostilities. Battle vs IRA (by Wassboss) : IRA : LRA He watches from the bushes as smoke rises from the centre of the outpost. The man is dressed in camouflage and he holds an assault rifle in his hands, a pistol hanging off his belt. He doesn't move as another man moves up beside him, dressed in khaki, and follows his gaze to the smoke trail. "I thought this place was abandoned" he says. "Clearly it isn't," the man replies "and by the looks of things there would appear to be more than one person." He points his rifle at the window on one of the buildings. The other man looks and sees a figure standing in the window, his back to the men. "What do you want us to do," the man in khaki asks. "Kony will not like the idea of people being this near of our encampment," the camouflaged man says "we must go in there and eliminate them." The other man nods and gestures with his hand back towards the jungle. Three more men appear out of the undergrowth, all armed and dressed in khaki. The man in camouflage rises and the other men copy him and together they make their way out of the forest and into the clearing that surrounds the barracks. The leader drops to a crouch when the reach the outer fence and gestures with his hand for the other men to come near. "We go in silently," he whispers when they get close enough "we kill anyone we come across quietly and efficiently. With any luck they won't even know we're here until it's too late." The other men nod and the leader pushes open the gate with his hand and slides through the gap and the rest of the group follows. The group makes it's way methodically throughout the compound, checking through the various outer buildings until they are sure that the coast is clear. They then move through the inner gate to continue their search, eventually coming across a group of large crates. The leader points to the crates and the man nearest to them takes the top off the nearest one. He looks inside and beckons to the leader to take a look. He walks over and peers into the crate, spotting several firearms. "What the hell is going on here" he whispers. "It looks like whoever is here is stocking up on weapons," the other man says. As he does a man rounds the corner, wearing a balaclava, a cigarette clasped between his lips. He spots the group and stops, the cigarette dropping from his mouth and hitting the floor. He tries to reach for the radio in his shirt pocket but one of the men shoots him twice in the chest with his AK-47, dropping him. ---- Inside the main building, 4 men sit around a table, covered from end to end by a map of the United Kingdom. The blinds are drawn and the only light comes from a several candles which are scattered about. At the head of the table sits an elderly man, his hair white and his features wrinkled and is also notable for being the only person no wearing a balaclava. He is studying the map and he takes 3 pins from a tray next to him and gets up, circling the table and placing the pins in 3 locations. London, Liverpool, Belfast. "These are the places we are going to attack," he says, his voice an heavy Irish accent. "We need to show these fucking imperialists that we ain't kidding around. They think they've won just because they've forced out of our country" he continues, spitting on the ground in contempt. "They don't know jack shit about who we are and what we stand for but this will show them that we mean business" "But how are we supposed to get back into Ireland" one of the men asks. "There's a boat leaving for the port of Liverpool from somewhere across the Sudanese boarders" the old man replies. "The Sudanese Rebels that kindly directed us to this base have also offered to transport us and our goods to the port and get us on that ship." Just as he says this the tranquil peace is broken by the sound of gunshots and the 3 younger men immediately jump to their feet. "What the hell was that" one of them says and they all look towards the older man, who is still sat calmly in his chair. "It looks like we've run into some trouble lads" he says and slowly rises from his seat. He walks over to a crate in the corner of the room and opens the lid to reveal a plethora of weaponry. "Let's show them the Irish spirit" he says with a smile. ---- "What do you do that for," the leader hisses at the man. "He'd seen us, he was about to raise the alarm," the man protests. "You should have used your Uzi," the leader snaps "at least that was silenced. Every person in the area will have heard those gunshots." Just as he says this, he hears the unmistakable sound of breaking glass and instinctively ducks as the sounds of gunfire rings out across the area. The rest of the LRA members follow suit, crouch walking behind the cover of the crates. A couple of the men peer out over the top of the cover and manage to spot a man in the window of the far building, before more gunfire forces them back behind cover. They wait for the gunfire to stop before returning fire with their AK's forcing the gunman to move out of the window to avoid getting hit. The leader catches something out of the corner of his eye and just about manages to move around the side of the crates before a barrage of bullets strikes the man standing next to him. The LRA troops turn to face the new threat and open fire, forcing the Irishmen to duck around behind the cover of a low brick wall. The man in the window continues his cover fire which prevents the LRA from being able to aim accurately without risking getting shot. "Get rid of that damn shooter" the leader yells to one of the men who takes the RPG-7 he has been carrying off his shoulder. He waits until the gunfire stops before stepping out from behind cover, firing off the RPG. It flies in an upwards arc towards the window, just as the IRA member steps out from behind cover. He barely has time to blink before the projectile hits him full on, destroying him in an explosion of fire and shrapnel. Unfortunately this move leaves him way out of cover and he is soon shredded by the gunfire of the IRA members. The two groups, now evenly matched, begin a cycle of coming out of cover, firing off some shots and then ducking back down to avoid a barrage from the opposing men. The LRA catch a lucky break when one of them manages to hit one of their opponents in the arm, making him drop his gun and leaving his right arm severely crippled. "FALL BACK" shouts the IRA leader and the Irishmen back away from the wall, covering their retreat with gunfire until they are safely round the side of one of the buildings. The LRA leader waves for his men to give chase and they oblige, running off in the direction of the IRA with the leader not far behind. As the round the corner of the building they spot a man dart through the doorway of the next building along and make a beeline for it. The first two men dash past the first building but as the leader passes the door of it he hears a sound from inside of the structure. He stops suddenly and goes back to the door, peering through the glass window but the lights are off inside and he can't really make out anything. Drawing his pistol he slowly pushes open the door and enters the building, the door swinging shut behind him. Meanwhile the other two LRA members have reached the far building and charge through the door, stopping as they reach a corridor with a staircase at the end of it. They draw their weapons and begin to edge towards the stairs, stopping before each of the doors to make sure there is nobody behind it. After painstaking scouting they eventually make it to the staircase and begins to ascend them. They reach the top and find themselves in yet another corridor but this one has only one door, right at the end. They head towards it but just as they reach it an IRA member bursts out of the door, a flamethrower strapped on his back. He pulls the trigger and flames burst forth from the nozzle, lighting the nearest LRA member up. He screams in agony and stumbles towards his team mate who backs up to avoid the flames, leaving his comrade to fall to the floor in a smouldering wreck. The Irishman continues to advance on the LRA man, a big grin plastered on his face as he sees the fear in his opponents eyes. He soon finds himself backed up against the stairs at the end of the corridor and his panic rises as he realises there is nowhere left to run. He suddenly remembers that he is still holding his Uzi and sprays it wildly at the wall of flames but it doesn't seem to be having any effect. He closes his eyes as the flames are about to reach him but he feels the immense heat disappear and he opens them to see the IRA member lying face down on the floor, his back peppered with exit wounds from the bullets . He wipes his brow and breathes a sigh of relief, lifting the Uzi to his face and kissing it gratefully. He lowers the weapon just in time to see an old man standing in the doorway at the end of the hallway his pistol raised. He goes for his own pistol but he is too slow and the man shoots him several times in the head. The man lowers his own pistol and checks his clip seeing that he still has seven bullets left. He heads towards the staircase, passing the bodies of the LRA members and bowing his head in respect to his fallen friend. "There's still one of those bastards left," he mutters under his breath. ---- The LRA leader moves carefully through the darkened room, his pistol raised and ready for any attacks. He reaches a wall and runs his non-gun hand over it, looking for a light switch. He finds it and flicks it downwards, lighting up the room to reveal that it's a dining hall. He looks around a finds himself stood next to the open door to the kitchen, going through the doorway to find a series of food preparation stations. As he steps further into the kitchen he is thrown off his feet by an unseen force, landing on his side of the floor, his pistol flying from his hand. He scrambles to his feet and comes face to face with his attacker, who is holding a knife in his left hand and advancing on him quickly. The LRA leader reaches behind himself, hoping to find something to defend himself with. His hand closes around the handle of something and he swings it forward wildly, forcing the IRA member to take a step back to avoid being hit and get into a defensive stance. The LRA leader notices that his opponents right arm is dangling by his side and realises that it is the man who was hit in the arm earlier in the fire fight. He grins at the man, unnerving him, before advancing with the cleaver swinging. The IRA member tries to fend him off as best he can but his injured arm puts him at a distinct disadvantage against his African adversary. The LRA leader stops swinging and instead lunges forward, shoulder barging the Irishman into one of the working stations. He swings feebly at him with his injured arm but the LRA leader laughs at the attempt and swings his cleaver downwards, gashing his opponents throat with the blade. He bends down as the blood spurts out and sticks his mouth in the stream, gargling it and the last thing the IRA member sees is the bloody smile of his killer. Once he is finished the LRA leader exits the building, stepping out into the sun. He immediately feels something whisk past his head and he ducks down, spotting the last IRA member storming towards him with his pistol firing. he returns fire with his Colt. The two men duke it out for a few seconds with the LRA leader managing to hit the Irishman in the shoulder and leg, making him wince in pain. They both run out of ammo at the same time and the LRA leader takes out the still bloody cleaver and advances on his injured opponent who hurriedly takes out his KA-BAR. The LRA leader is too quick for him though and his swipe connects with the older man's side, leaving a deep gash and making him drop to his knees. The African grins evilly with his bloody teeth bared but the old hand is not intimidated by the display, surprising him. "Tell me who sent you here and who knows I might even let you live" he says. "I'm not going to tell you nothing you flea ridden scumbag" the old man says defiantly and the LRA leader smiles at his courage. "Fine then have it your're way" he says and begins to raise the cleaver when the IRA leader lifts his hand up to stop him, making him pause. "Okay, I will tell you something" he says and the LRA leader smiles, lowering the cleaver. "Go ahead." "Never underestimate a wounded man" The LRA member frowns but before he can do anything the IRA leader lunges forward with his KA-BAR, plunging into his opponents chest. He looks down, bewildered, before dropping his weapon and clutching at his chest. The old Irishman draws the blade out slowly and the LRA leader falls to the ground . The IRA leader winches as the pain hits him, managing to muster up enough bloody saliva to spit on the corpse of his foe. "There's nothing that can break the spirit of one Irishman who doesn't want to be broken" he whispers and limps back to the headquarters. Expert's Opinion This was a fairly easy victory for the IRA. The LRA was not much more than a bloodthirsty personality cult and didn't do much fighting themselves, preferring to send in child soldiers to do their dirty work. The IRA were better organised, better trained and were more experienced in combat and they also had to superior weaponry to boot. To see the original battle, weapons and votes, click here. Battle vs Khmer Rouge (by Wassboss) Khmer Rouge: LRA: A mass of people, hands bound behind their back and down on their knees, look on in fear at the men stood before them. Dressed in green and carrying automatic firearms they watch the crowd intently, ready to fire if anybody dares run. Nearby another group of men, dressed the same as the guard, are digging a large hole in the ground, the purpose of which is clear to everyone there. Satisfied the hole is big enough an order is barked out to the diggers, who leave their duty but do not drop the spades they are holding. Walking over to the crowd of prisoners, each digger takes up position at the end of each line. A teenager, no more than fifteen years old, takes his place near the front and waits for the order to be given. A man strides to the front of the armed men, obviously the leader. “For you crimes against Cambodia and our glorious leader Pol Pot you have been sentenced to death,” the man says. His tone is disinterested, having clearly had to give this speech many times before. Many of the crowd start weeping and begging for mercy but the leader is unfazed, and he gives a sharp nod to the assembled diggers and the slaughter begins. The teenager lifts his shovel up above his head but hesitates as he stares down at the young woman who is sobbing quietly. He glances over at his superior who is watching him with a keen gaze to see how he handles the task. “I’m sorry” he says under his breath as he brings the shovel down… Poeu Chey bolts upright in his bed, drenched in a cold sweat. Morning light is breaking through the crack of his cabin door and he exhales heavily as he realises it was only a dream. He swings his legs over the side of his bed and sits there, head down and gripping his knees tightly. The nightmares have been more frequent recently and while the people and circumstances change, they all have the same recurring theme of death and destruction. Banishing the thoughts from his head he dresses himself and goes outside. The rest of the camp is waking up around him as the other Cambodians start their daily chores. After the regime had collapsed many members of the Khmer Rouge had fled into the jungles of Cambodia but some instead chose to flee the country entirely. Poeu Chey remembers the desperation of the people as the Vietnamese army closed in on their position, men and their families crowding onto the boat. After several weeks at sea they had landed somewhere in Africa and for the last twenty years they had been eking out a living, avoiding contact with the outside world as much as possible. Poeu Chey enters a small cabin which acts as storage and arms himself ready for his morning patrol. Once this is done, he heads to the scouting outpost where he finds the other four men on his patrol. They are all young and fresh faced, too young to really remember Cambodia or the regime, something Poeu Chey envies greatly. Many of the older men who made the journey on the boat have since died and Poeu Chey is one of the few left to train up the youngsters. He does a brief check to make sure their uniform is correct, and their weapons are fully stocked before leading them off into the surrounding jungle. ---- “Remember to keep your eyes peeled, we’ve heard reports of another rebel group in this area.” “Yes sir,” comes the reply from the rest of the patrol. At the head of the group, Ojore’s eyes flicker across the jungle checking for unnatural movement. It was his 18th birthday today and three years since the LRA had stolen him from his family on a humid summer night. He glances back at the others, all snatched from their own families as well. “Eyes to the front soldier,” snaps the man at the back. His name is Vincent, the oldest and only one of the group to have joined the LRA voluntarily. Ojore turns away, stifling an angry grimace and goes back to checking the surroundings. Vincent is always at the back of the patrols, AK-47 pointed at their backs to make sure they don’t try and escape. Some had tried but all of them had ended up dead, their bodies left to rot in plain sight as a warning to the others. Something catches Ojore’s ear suddenly and he stops dead. “What’s the holdup?” Vincent asks. “I think I can hear something sir,” Ojore says. As they stop to listen, they can hear the sound of leaves crushed under foot. The noise appears to be coming from their right and the group quietly move towards it, crouching down behind a fallen tree trunk for cover. On the trail in front of them is a small group of armed men who seem to be on patrol just like they are. “They don’t look like one of the local rebel groups,” one of the LRA says quietly. “They don’t even look like they’re African,” Ojore replies. “Well whoever they are we can’t let them live,” Vincent says. “Aim your weapons and fire on my command.” Ojore and the others look at each other uneasily but they all the know the punishment for disobedience. Pointing their guns at the group a deathly silence descends on the area as if even the creatures of the jungle know what is about to happen. “Fire,” comes the shout from Vincent and the silence is broken by the sound of gunfire. Two of the group are torn to shreds by the gunfire while the rest scramble to find cover amongst the foliage. ---- Poeu Chey ducks behind the twisting root system of a large tree to avoid the hail of gunfire. Unfortunately, two of his scout party were not as lucky and they lay dead on the forest floor. As he returns fire, he checks on the rest of the scouting party, who have also taken cover behind the root system. There is clear panic in their faces, and they are returning fire wildly and without really aiming. Almost by luck they manage to strike one of the LRA in the head, leaving him slumped over the log they are taking cover behind . If anything this only serves to intensify the gunfire from the remaining members, and it is quickly apparent to Poeu Chey that they are outclassed. “We can’t stay here, or we’ll be shot to pieces” he says. “Should we retreat back to the camp?” one of the boys asks. “No. If they follow us then they’ll know exactly where we are. The whole camp would be in danger. When there is a lull in the shooting we head north, opposite way to camp so that at least they can’t find where the other are.” The two nod their head in agreement and once the LRA stop to reload the three men bolt from their hiding spot. However, one of them still has ammo left in his weapon and shoots at them as they flee. A bullet tears through the neck of one of the fleeing Khmer Rouge and he drops to the floor, gargling and choking on blood. The other turns back to help him but Poeu Chey grabs his arm firmly and pulls him forward. “It’s too late for him Phirum, we need to think about ourselves,” he says and drags the young man further into the jungle before he can change his mind. ---- “After them!” Vincent shouts and vaults over the log. “But sir they’re fleeing and there is only two of them left. I think we’ve made out point,” one of the other says. Vincent stops in his tracks and turns slowly, with a face like thunder. He jabs the barrel of his rifle into the boy’s chest and pulls the trigger, blasting a hole in his chest and killing him stone dead. “If we let them get away then it shows that we’re soft” Vincent strolls over to the downed Cambodian who is still just about alive, slams his foot down on his neck and snaps it with a twist of his boot. “Either you’re with me or you’ll end up like these sorry sons of bitches here. Understand!” he says, the defeated silence from the others confirming they do. He gestures with his gun and they head off in the direction the men disappeared to. Following the trail left by the two, they come across two diverging set of tracks. “They must’ve split up. You,” Vincent says pointing at one of the rebels “You come with me and follow these tracks and you” he continues gesturing to Ojore “follow those ones.” He dashes off after the tracks with an LRA solider in toe and Ojore hurries after the other set. After a few hundred metres the tracks stop and Ojore looks around in confusion. Ducking down low he listens out for anything unusual. The area is quiet, too quiet for a jungle teeming with life and it tells him something unnatural is nearby. As he listens more closely, he can make out the faint sound of breathing as if someone was catching their breath. He pinpoints the sound as coming from a particularly thick gathering of vegetation, opens fire with his Uzi and a body riddled with bullets collapses through the brush . Ojore flips the body over with his foot to make sure they are dead and satisfied that they are he begins retracing his steps through the jungle until he finds himself back at the track divergence… ---- Poeu Chey controls his breathing as he peers out from his hiding place. He’s pulled down the brush to create a makeshift camouflaged position and affixed a silencer to his submachine gun. Sitting here, waiting for the enemy to appear, reminds him of being back in Cambodia. He watches as two men wander into his field of view. The lead one, clearly agitated starts barking out orders before walking off somewhere, leaving the other one behind. He starts looking around, clearly trying to see if there is anyone hidden nearby. As he gets to Poeu Chey’s position he notices the glimmer of steel, but he doesn’t even get time to aim his weapon as he is pumped full of lead. Instinctively he checks his ammo count to find he only has a couple of rounds left. Mouthing a curse, he eyes up the AK-47 lying next to the Ugandan’s body. He inches out of his hiding place slowly, checking around constantly for danger. Snatching up the assault rifle once he gets close, he checks the ammo count and tests the weight. It’s at this moment he feels the cold hard barrel of a gun pressed into the back of his head. “Drop the weapon” Vincent says coolly. Poeu Chey does as he is asked and tosses the weapon to the side. “Now, put your hands behind your head,” Vincent continues. Poeu Chey moves his left hand behind his head and slides his cane knife out with his right hand. He knows he only has once chance to get this right. He swings the cane knife round suddenly and he hears ringing in his ear as the gun is fired. Luckily the bullet only grazes his ear and the cane knife slices into Vincent’s right hand, almost severing it from his arm. He let’s out a shrill shriek and Poeu Chey aims another blow for the neck, gashing it open. Snatching up Vincent’s pistol from the ground he finishes him off with two bullets to the back of the head and he lies bleeding on the ground. It’s at this moment Ojore bursts out of the undergrowth, spraying out bullets with his Uzi. Poeu Chey scrambles away returning fire with the pistol. Ojore quickly runs out of ammo and draws the bowie knife, launching himself at Khmer Rouge soldier before he can fire again. The two struggles, with Poeu Chey trying to keep the knife from plunging into his chest and Ojore keeping a firm grasp on the pistol to stop it firing. It is the Cambodian who gets the upper hand in the end and manages to turn the barrel of the pistol into the Ugandan’s stomach and squeezing the trigger. Ojore gasps and loosens his grip on the knife which allows Poeu Chey to twist the blade around, plunging it into the teenager’s chest. His body shudders from the impact and Ojore looks up at him and for the first time he realises just how young the man he has been fighting is. In that moment there is a silent understanding between the two, their eyes bearing the pain of a childhood destroyed by atrocities, before Ojore draws his last breath. Poeu Chey lowers the boy’s body to the floor gently. The memories of all those years ago seep into his mind, all the death and destruction he had seen, that he had taken part in. He’d convinced himself for the longest time that he had been forced, that he had to do those terrible things, or he’d have been killed as well. But on the other hand, he had still committed those acts, there was no escaping that, so was he just as bad as those who ordered the killings? Poeu Chey doesn’t know anymore but what he does know is that he has to go back to the camp, to let the others know of their loss and let their mothers grieve over their lost children. It’s a scene he knows all too well. 'Winner Khmer Rouge ' Expert's Opinion The Khmer Rouge won this battle because they were the more organised and better trained fighting force. The LRA had more relevant combat experience but lacked organisation and while the Khmer Rouge are not exactly the poster boys for 'well drilled fighting force' there were at least a bit more professional. Furthermore they were just bringing the superior weaponry to the battle which put the nail in the coffin for the LRA. To see the original battle, weapons and votes, click here. Category:Warriors Category:Real Warriors Category:Human Warriors Category:Group Warriors Category:Terrorist Warriors Category:African Warriors Category:Modern Warriors Category:Criminal Warriors Category:Guerilla Warriors